


things we didn't say (and didn't have to)

by withered



Series: Liars [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Kissing, Light Petting, Making Out, Outtakes, This isn't angst I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 09:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18008711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: The first time he kisses her – really kisses her – he knows it’s over.





	things we didn't say (and didn't have to)

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I don't even know what this is. 
> 
> A vaguely M rated/possibly T rated outtake from Liar, Liar (the first in this series). Background on that is pretty necessary since this outtake doesn't really have a plot it was just something I was writing to work myself up to the M/E-rated chapter that I still haven’t gotten to. My bad.
> 
> If this isn’t your cup of tea, exits can be found to the left and right of your screen.
> 
> Also, this was intended to be about Ichigo’s back tattoo and I never got to it. So yeah. This is my life.

 

The first time he kisses her – really kisses her – he knows it’s over.

Wherever they touch bruises and burns; all warm hands and searing hot bodies underneath too many layers between them as she grips him with tight knuckles and white teeth, snarling kisses that warn _this is who I am, this is who you’re with, go-go-go_. Except she softens and unravels, slowly, unwillingly; the little noises she makes like the petals of a flower, opening palm by palm until she’s outright blooming, mouth soft and lush and wanting.

His heart pounds a tattoo, racing to whisper _stay-stay-stay_.

Chest to chest, he hopes she hears it.

Standing so close, it’s easy to breathe her in – her faded perfume, the smell of her shampoo and a hint of salt he can taste in the air – her anger, her frustration, her sorrow – all living things she breathes out with every whisper of her lips against his. An explanation; an apology; a goodbye.  

He hates it; wants to snarl right back; _not your fault, not you, don’t go. Don’t._ Instead, he coaxes with soothing hands and breathless pleas _softer, softer; Rukia, please –_

Her eyes are practically black in the sparse light, shining with tears that still drip from her chin.

Ichigo doesn’t risk a breath, just reaches out to catch it before it falls, and she turns her head to fall to press a kiss against the heart of it. _I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s me._

The sadness doesn’t leave.

Not even when she does.

He doesn’t intend to make that mistake again.

Almost three months after they’ve gotten back together – or rather, officially started being together – he’s got a pretty good record.

But this time he thinks, his streak has come to an end.

She’d only agreed to meet up with some of the TAs at the office for after-work drinks if Ichigo went with her. Apparently, Nanao was at a conference, and Rangiku was holed up with a marking pile from hell. Ichigo knows Rukia’s gotten more comfortable since she started therapy, but she’s still nervous about just going out.

She felt stupid just asking him to go with her, and now that he’s ditched her, she probably feels even worse.

With the fire he got called in for, over, he books it as soon as he’s been cleared to go.  

He smells like ash, his arms spotted with soot, and he’s still wearing his suspenders. People look startled to see him. At least he got rid of the hat and the jacket; he thinks wirily, though can’t help but feel naked without the latter. His stuff is still in his locker at the station, leather jacket, boots, cell phone and all, but the truck had been going past the bar where they’d planned to go, and he just figured –

Rukia is cornered by that piece of shit ex of hers, whats-her-face, and another asshat who’s leaning over the table to get in her space while the rest of them are giggling behind their beers.

To her credit, Rukia doesn’t seem particularly concerned about her current position, but Ichigo’s known her just long enough for him to read the tension in her shoulders, the curl of her lip –

Even after they’ve beat their retreat, Rukia doesn’t do more than thin her lips, doesn’t even respond to the regret he presses against her mouth, the anger he feels on her behalf.

He takes her home rather than to his room.

Toshirou’s gone for a week on some retreat so the apartment is empty, but at least this way if Rukia wants to be alone, Ichigo won’t get in her way.

She doesn’t argue with their destination and doesn’t immediately turn around to shut the door in his face when they get there. But he follows inside sedately after her, locking the door behind him before he stands in her living room and says, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it.”

Ichigo doesn’t want to leave. And even if she doesn’t want to talk to him, he’d still rather be with her.

She sighs. “I’m not angry.”

“Rukia.”

“I’m not, I…everything was fine.”

He looks at her disbelievingly, and she huffs. “Alright, it wasn’t _fine_ , but I had it under control. Right before you showed up looking” – she waves a hand at him before making a confusing expression –“and I got distracted.”

“Distracted?” he repeats, brow raised.

Her cheeks brighten. “No, that’s not – you’re distracting, you know this.”

“Do I?”

She huffs out an annoyed breath, “Ichigo -”

 He stops her there. He always does. It’s probably not a good response to develop. But it’s not like he can help it. Rukia really is too adorable for her own good.

Her knuckles curl against his chest, and if she favoured long nails, they’d be digging right in. Instead, she’s got his black t-shirt by the handful, and she’s straining up to reach his mouth, her other hand tugging at the nape of his neck. “Wait, wait,” he murmurs, “I’m-I’m dirty from the fire, my shirt -”

Rukia tugs at his lower lip, murmurs, “Then take it off.”

He licks into her mouth obligingly, fingers still trailing tentatively down her back until she’s nipping, peering at him through half-mast eyes and saying, “Ichigo, they’re going to come off anyway.”

And he can’t argue with that.

With firm, warm palms, he maps out the contours of her curves through the silk of her white top and the butter yellow of her skirt as he skates over the ladder of her ribs, the dips in her hips, mapping a course before he finally settles on a spot. Rukia pushes back against the squeeze of his handful, gasping against his smirking lips as his fingers catch on the zipper of her pencil skirt.

The slow drag of it is as much a tease as a promise, and he follows it with his other hand, caressing between the curve of her cheeks. She pulls his lower lip between her teeth in a warning until he sucks it back, lips bruising and tongue claiming as the material of her skirt pools down her legs. The warmth of his hands is a sharp contrast against the coolness nipping at her legs, raising Goosebumps against her skin as he moulds his palms around her heated flesh. Like putty, her body gives as he kneads two handfuls of her ass.

Against his mouth, she whimpers, catching his nipple with her nails as she insists _closer, closer._

That is an order he’s more than willing to obey. Hoisting her effortlessly by her thighs, he hooks them around his hips as he walks them to her bedroom, mouth never leaving hers even as his footfalls echo _yes, yes, yes._

Her breath hitches beneath the sound of the door slamming closed behind the heel of his boot as his teeth and nose skim teasingly along the muscle of her neck as if deciding where best to leave a mark. She squirms.  

Easily, Rukia finds relief in the friction of her body and his; the ridges of his muscles against the fullness of hers, and she trembles as the digits of one hand slide beneath her thigh, the pads of his fingers seeking the wet, warmth heat and then moaning lowly when he does.

The sheets are sharply cool compared to the heat they’ve generated, and she gasps at the shock of it as he lays her on the bed.

His exhaled breath is quick, his eyes wild and mouth red as he drags her closer still until her knees are pressed against his hips; the dark, thick line of his cock pointing home as he pauses to admire her spread out for him.

Rukia’s hair is a halo of spilt ink against the white sheets, a pink tongue sliding wetly around her swollen lips as she tries to catch her breath; her cheeks are flushed and he follows it down the long line of her neck, watching it disappear greedily down her still clothed chest. With eyes wide and dark and full of sin, she arches her back in invitation.

Her underwear is black, stark against the enticing arch of her pale thighs, wet and warm to the touch. Her muscles tremble at the barely-there contact, her breath coming in a gasp. He licks his lips.

“Be honest, are you mad at me?”

“Furious,” she informs with a lazy smirk. “You spared them from total public humiliation.” He smirks back, not even trying to hide how pleased he is with her even if he’d gotten in her way. Already, he parts her legs a little more, trailing kisses _closer, closer. “_ Think you can forgive me?”

Rukia makes a considerable attempt to look magnanimous, but he’s already hooked his thumb around the sling of her underwear, already soothing circles around the bundle of nerves at her clit before she deigns to say, “We’ll see.”

He knows a challenge when he hears one.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably add to the "Liars" series sporadically, and I swear I will get to that M/E chapter eventually. One day. Who knows. 
> 
> Feel free to yell at me at everything-withered.tumblr.com
> 
> [Buy me a coffee or reblog my fic](https://everything-withered.tumblr.com/)


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